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Was it her imagination or did everyone seem happy and smiling and filled with hope and expectation? Was it only her who felt as if someone had squeezed her heart very tightly and left it all bruised and hurt?
She felt a fraud as she greeted her mother with a big hug—as if she’d changed beyond all recognition while she’d been away. And that the person who laughed and admired their ancient little silver Christmas tree was an imposter; the real Cassie far away in the remembered bliss of a cynic’s embrace.
She tried her best to get into the festive spirit, the same way as she always did. She went to the pub on Christmas Eve. Gavin was there—along with a whole bunch of other people she knew. But again, she experienced that strange sensation of no longer feeling part of anything. As if Giancarlo had taken her away from her safe little harbour and cut her adrift—and she no longer knew where she belonged.
‘Where’s lover boy?’ questioned Gavin. ‘Not joining us tonight? Not flying in by helicopter for a quick pint?’
Cassie gave a smile which she hoped was less wan than it felt. ‘No. It’s over between us, Gavin. It was only ever a temporary thing. I told you that’s how it was.’
‘And you’re okay with that?’
Behind her glued-on smile, Cassie gritted her teeth. ‘Absolutely okay with that.’
But later that night, when the midnight bells were chiming around the village and the ever-present roar of the waves from the nearby sea was sounding in her ears, Cassie knew she could wait no longer. Climbing into bed, she untied the white ribbon from the turquoise box and began to open it, her fingers flying to her lips as she looked inside.
For sitting on dark and luxurious velvet was a fine platinum chain from which hung a single bright diamond the size of a small pea. As she lifted it out it seemed to capture the light and sparkle it back at her in a rainbow cascade—and Cassie could have wept, knowing that she would never be able to wear it. At least, not in public. It wasn’t the kind of jewellery you could pass off as fake since even the most untutored eye would have recognised its worth. So she wore it hidden beneath her dress on Christmas Day—and the cold stone which dangled against her skin felt like a constant reminder of the man who had given it to her.
And when she started back at work just after the New Year the shop seemed doll’s-house tiny after the mega-stores of London. It was hard summoning up her customary enthusiasm—especially when Patsy, her boss, wanted to know all about working at Hudson’s and Cassie wasn’t mad-keen to relive any of it.
‘Did you feel you learnt a lot there?’ Patsy questioned. ‘And in London generally?’
‘Oh, masses,’ said Cassie truthfully as guilt scorched through her. Imagine if Patsy knew the truth—that she had been accused of theft and sacked because a man with black eyes had made her concentration fly out of the window.
But the shame of losing her job paled into insignificance when measured against the pain of missing Giancarlo—a sharp, searing loss which seemed to haunt her every waking moment. All she could do was keep telling herself over and over again that she would get over it. It might take time but she would—because didn’t they say that nobody ever died of a broken heart?
Throwing herself into work, she volunteered to redress the shop window and Patsy was flatteringly pleased with the results. Cassie suggested that they might have a preview evening for customers—offering wine and snacks—whenever the season’s new stock came in and the idea was received with enthusiasm. She was promised a pay-rise in the spring and she tried to focus on the thought of the winter evenings growing lighter and the primroses pushing their pale yellow heads through the cold earth.
The only fly in the ointment was the slight queasi-ness she felt upon waking each morning. At first she thought it was because she’d been eating badly since getting back. Wolfing down squares of chocolate at inappropriate times, which she put down to Christmas greed—and showing a marked lack of interest in eating normal food, which she blamed on missing Giancarlo. It was easy to blot things out, when you really wanted to. And denial was easy, Cassie discovered—a safe and comfortable place to be.
Until one morning when she was actually sick—retching quietly in the small bathroom, terrified that her mother would hear and guess at the awful fear which was daily growing larger in Cassie’s mind.
She waited until her mother had gone to her weekly salsa class before she dared do a test. Even buying the kit had seemed as if she was jinxing herself. She told herself that it was bound to be negative, that they’d used contraception every time—she told herself that because she refused to consider any alternative scenario. It had to be negative!
